Page 54 of The Key Holder

“It feels great.”

He spit in his hand and rubbed it along my shaft. “You’re just so fucking thick.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, as he swallowed all of me that he could. Each flick of his tongue sent shivers down my spine, and Dylan’s commitment to trying to take more each stroke made my knees threaten to buckle.

Despite not being able to deep throat me, it was clear he knew exactly what he was doing. He slipped a finger along my perineum and into the crease of my ass, just teasing my hole. After a few soft touches there, he moved to my balls, playfully massaging them and surprising me with a few tugs.

I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and enjoyed his oral worship of my cock. A soft groan escaped my lips as the pressure built in my balls. This was the kind of pleasure that made me forget everything but the moment—the look in his eyes from earlier, the slurping noises he was making now. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, encouraging him.

I was close, so incredibly close, the world narrowing to this one exquisite point.

My eyes snapped open. “Something’s burning!”

Dylan pulled off mid-suck, a string of saliva connecting us before it snapped. “Shit! The eggs!” He scrambled up, using my thighs as support, and bolted for the stove. A thin plume of smoke was billowing from the pan, carrying the acrid smell of burnt food. He snatched the pan off the burner, turning it off, and fanned at the smoke with a dish towel. “Well,” he said, looking at the blackened remnants of what was food, “that’s definitely not salvageable.” Dylan tilted the dish towards me as if I needed to confirm. “And it smells… distinctive.”

I chuckled, still breathing heavily, my body almost vibrating with unspent desire. “Distinctive is one word for it.” My dick was slick with his spit and still at attention, almost waving in the air between us. “So much for our naked breakfast.”

Dylan glanced over at me, then down. “I can still get my protein.”

“I’m not sure that will be quite enough for you.”

“Only one way to find out.”

I walked past him, over to the fridge. “Looks like we’re out of eggs.”

Dylan scraped the charred bits from the pan into the trash with the spatula. “So if I can’t have your cock, and we have no eggs, then cereal it is.”

“We have no milk either.”

He dropped the pan into the sink. “To be honest, the naked part was the main draw, and not specifically the food.”

“It seems we need to run to the grocery store.” I bent over to pick my clothes off the floor and started putting them back on.

“Agreed.” Dylan sauntered over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His mouth was inches from mine, so I leaned down and gave him what we both wanted. Moaning as our lips pressed together, his hand slipped down past the waistband of my shorts and grabbed my cock. He pulled off. “Unless you want to fool around some more?”

“I definitely want to do that, but I can hear your stomach rumbling.”

“I didn’t think you heard that.”

“I think the neighbors across the lake heard that.”

“Fine.” Dylan stepped back. “I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry. My dick will be ready to go when we get back.” I had no idea how we got here so fast, but fuck…here we were. Blowjobs in the kitchen and full-on flirting. It’s like that last night’s fuck was magic.

“I can see that.” I glanced down to where he was pointing. “If you're going commando in public, everyone’s gonna see it.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t be looking.” I shrugged.

He glanced over his shoulder as he headed to the stairs. “It’s mine anyway. They can’t have it.”

I couldn’t get his words out of my head for the entire drive. While Dylan was singing along to Annie Lennox in the passenger seat, all I could hear was his voice from before.

It’s mine anyway.

He was talking about my dick, and both my dick and I liked it. It had yet to go soft. Granted some of that was because it was getting rubbed every which way inside of my tight shorts on this bumpy road, but most of it was due to Dylan’s directness.

His possessiveness.